Chapter 2
When people are embarrassed, they tend to act busy. Birds do the same.
Si Jingce watched as Yan Yan, pretending like nothing happened, lowered his head and started preening his feathers. Once he was done, he tried to fly back onto the table.
The little bird flapped his wings hard in midair but failed to lift off. Just as he was about to fall—
A hand caught him steadily.
Meeting the man’s calm, emotionless eyes again, Yan Yan couldn’t hold it in and let out a loud cry.
[I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I just wanted you to pet me! I didn’t mean to fly up there on purpose!]
The chirping, noisy and shrill, accompanied the cry and echoed clearly in Si Jingce’s mind.
He wanted more pets?
Si Jingce didn’t react. He scooped the bird up and placed him back on the table.
The moment he let go, the crying stopped.
Touch him again—the crying returned.
Like a very easily disconnected bird-shaped Bluetooth speaker.
Si Jingce started to suspect his condition was getting worse.
Yan Yan didn’t quite match the image of a typical cage-raised bird. He wasn’t timid or fearful—in fact, he seemed quite focused on human touch.
Si Jingce’s hand hovered less than five centimeters away from Yan Yan, but he hesitated.
Pearl birds were so tiny.
If he used even a bit too much strength, Yan Yan might not be able to breathe.
In the end, he extended just one finger and gently rubbed Yan Yan’s little head.
The sobbing in his mind gradually faded.
Si Jingce let out a quiet breath.
Taking Yan Yan in had been far too sudden.
He’d done all his homework to prepare for a cat—bought the right bed, litter box, even made sure to install cat doors in every room while renovating the house.
Now that the kitten had become a bird, he needed to revise all his plans.
Looking at Yan Yan’s crude food bowl, Si Jingce withdrew his hand and silently poured in some food.
The little bird chirped twice in gratitude, then turned back to his shabby nest to eat.
Si Jingce had no experience raising pearl birds. He had to search for guidance on the spot.
The moment he opened the app, a flood of photos scrolled past—all showcasing beautifully decorated bird cages by other owners.
Elegant coconut shells, crescent-shaped swings, chubby birds hopping back and forth between perches and swings.
Si Jingce took out his phone and compared those cages to Yan Yan’s.
His bird had no real nest, no padding, even the food and water shared the same dish.
Seeing that, the previously plump Yan Yan suddenly looked pitiful and scrawny.
Once Yan Yan had eaten his fill, a phone stand was placed in front of him.
Yan Yan: ?
Si Jingce said, “Pick the one you like.”
He had already ordered the largest, most expensive cage. But when it came to toys and other living essentials, he wasn’t sure.
He scrolled through pictures for Yan Yan—coconut shells, space pods, round hanging nests… an endless selection.
Yan Yan: Wow OoO
He looked up at Si Jingce: “Chirp chirp chirp?”
Is this for me?
Si Jingce actually understood and nodded. “For you.”
“The coconut shell?”
“Chirp!”
“The moon swing?”
“Chirp chirp!”
…
Amidst a roomful of bird chirps, Si Jingce didn’t even blink as he bought everything in one go.
In addition to the essentials, he also bought bedding for nesting and beak-grinding tools.
Finally, he booked a consultation with a psychiatrist.
Being able to hear a bird speak human language through physical contact—this was just too bizarre.
Up until now, he still believed he might be hallucinating from too much gaming and too little rest.
Yan Yan was overjoyed.
This owner was clearly far more generous than the last.
A good man! Beautiful inside and out!
He opened his mouth, ready to launch a full-blown praise session.
Si Jingce interrupted his aria: “I’m working now. Don’t make noise.”
Oh…
Yan Yan obediently shut up.
Since he was already awake and still owed a bunch of streaming hours this month, Si Jingce decided to start a livestream just to pad the time.
As he walked to the study, he noticed the little fluffball quickening his steps to follow him, only to stop right at the study’s threshold.
Yan Yan chirped at him: “Chirp.”
He said he was only allowed in the living room, so he wouldn’t take a single step into the study!
The fluffy little bird stood alone at the doorway, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.
It was a little pitiful.
After a moment’s hesitation, Si Jingce picked him up and placed him on his shoulder.
“From now on, you can be in the study and the living room.”
The little bird nearly lost his balance, wobbling before he managed to steady himself.
Upon hearing Si Jingce’s words, he couldn’t help but chuckle giddily.
The man walked straight into the study, turned on his computer, and while waiting for it to boot, casually opened a bottle of yogurt for breakfast.
Yan Yan hopped down from his shoulder, inspecting the layout of the study.
In front of the computer sat a huge shelf filled with blind box figurines. The peripherals were all top-tier. Yan Yan’s claws itched, and he cautiously tapped the keyboard, then glanced nervously at Si Jingce.
Si Jingce ignored him.
So the little bird grew bolder.
As soon as the computer started up, the livestream on GemstoneTV went live too. Si Jingce casually changed the stream title—
[Just Playing Around.]
Yan Yan could barely read the characters. Tilting his head up, he found Si Jingce’s username—lcberg.
The avatar was likely fan art: a white-haired man in a blue robe, ethereal and distant, exuding a cold, sacred aura.
Yan Yan looked at the on-screen avatar, then back at the laid-back man sipping yogurt.
Hmm… not really the same vibe.
The view count in the top right corner rapidly increased, and rows of bullet comments flew across the screen.
[Streaming this early today?]
[Hehe, the early bird gets the worm.]
[When are you turning on the camera? When are you turning on the camera?]
“Couldn’t sleep, so I started early,” Si Jingce said, setting his yogurt aside. “So I won’t stream tonight… What do you all want to watch me play?”
He’d never used a camera, but his voice had a magnetic quality, which meant he had more female fans than male ones.
The moment he spoke, the comments exploded into a chorus of “Ahhhh” and “Say more!”
Si Jingce filtered the screenful of noise and pulled out the key info: “Not playing PUBG. I suck.”
He usually streamed horror and puzzle games, only occasionally playing mechanically demanding games. The streams didn’t go as smoothly, but fans loved them.
Mainly because Si Jingce was really bad—an endless source of comedy.
His eyesight was poor—couldn’t spot enemies running in the distance. His hearing was worse—couldn’t tell which direction footsteps were coming from.
He was a professional team liability. Even his closest streamer friends were reluctant to queue with him.
At most, he’d solo queue into casual matches, entertain fans, and raise his own blood pressure.
Just then, the screen lit up with flashy effects. A wealthy fan spent a ton and directly requested—
[Just wanna watch you play PUBG.]
Si Jingce immediately clicked open PUBG.
[Whoa, money talks.]
[Ugh, gold digger.]
Si Jingce remained composed: “I respect the will of the fans.”
Yan Yan watched for a while and gradually understood that Si Jingce was earning money to support the household, so he stopped disturbing him and turned his gaze to the shelf of figurines.
There were all kinds of IPs, though the little bird didn’t recognize any. He quietly flew up and nestled among the figures, motionless, pretending to be one of them.
Before long, Yan Yan got bored again. Then he noticed a row of blue-and-white blind boxes with very familiar designs.
Si Jingce started his first game.
He marked the furthest point on the map right away.
[?]
[Streamer going for a stealth run?]
[Shhh, new fans be quiet. Sit down and learn the rat spots.]
Whenever he found a new camping spot, fans would rush to learn it, only to be taken out one by one by pro players. There weren’t many new spots left.
Si Jingce parachuted away from the crowd.
Barely scraping together a set of gear, he dove straight into a bush.
[…You can’t ambush anyone in this spot, right?]
“Haven’t woken up yet,” Si Jingce yawned. “Just warming up for now.”
Only after the play zone shrank did his character finally move.
As he ran into the zone, he began to hear distant gunfire.
Si Jingce found another hidden spot to camp.
He was a bit distracted.
With a bird in his study, he kept getting drawn to it.
The footsteps in his headphones got louder. Si Jingce adjusted his view slightly and spotted someone approaching.
A motorbike roared in the distance. The player flopped to the ground—right in front of Si Jingce.
[No way?? You didn’t see that???]
The enemy dismounted and began looting nearby buildings.
The prone player suddenly charged forward, opening fire. A burst of gunshots—and then, they turned into a loot box.
“Young people need to be more patient,” Si Jingce said.
Despite the action, he hadn’t moved a step.
While the survivor went to loot, Si Jingce pulled a surprise attack, snatched the kill cleanly.
He managed to sneak into the final circle, but was taken out by someone he didn’t spot crouching in the distance.
Comments shouted “Boring!”
“This method works though,” Si Jingce said. “At least I make top ten every time.”
At their urging, he started another match.
While waiting in the lobby, Si Jingce looked up slightly and spotted Yan Yan in the figurine shelf.
As his fanbase grew, fans had started sending increasingly fancy gifts.
Last year, a fan hand-crafted a blind box set based on his avatar. Now it was sitting right there on the shelf.
Yan Yan… was pecking at the head of the figurine version of Si Jingce.
Si Jingce opened his mouth, hesitated, then looked away and focused on the game.
He got lucky this round—a supply drop landed right on top of him.
[Finally planning to go wild?!]
But Si Jingce only looted the ghillie suit and ammo, leaving the AWM sniper rifle behind.
“Can’t handle snipers, better leave the gun for someone else.”
[Then at least leave the bullets, too.]
The character paused. “Wait, I took the bullets too?”
He threw them down in a nearby spot. “Thanks for the reminder. I’ll just leave them here.”
Whether anyone found them now depended on fate.
With the ghillie suit, Si Jingce felt more secure. He looked up again—Yan Yan had moved to a new spot, now proudly riding on top of the figurine version of him.
Si Jingce: …
An enemy appeared head-on. Si Jingce’s hand slipped, and he shot the entire magazine into a tree.
Several rounds went poorly. The zone kept shrinking across diagonals, or he failed to hide fast enough and got taken out halfway.
After several frustrating games, Si Jingce was tired. His character stood idle in the lobby as he closed his eyes to rest for a moment.
“One last match, then I’m logging off.”
Yan Yan happened to fly down and landed on the computer.
It was a 32-inch monitor, and standing on it, Yan Yan looked even tinier.
Si Jingce started the last game, but his eyes stayed on Yan Yan.
While parachuting, Yan Yan was preening.
While hiding in a bush, Yan Yan curled up into a ball, looking like he was about to melt.
The fans sensed Si Jingce’s distraction.
The sound of a grenade rocked the computer slightly. Yan Yan, head lowered to watch the screen, happened to block a running enemy.
Si Jingce reached out and poked the bird. “Don’t look, you’re in the way.”
Yan Yan immediately lifted his head.
A single gunshot ended the match—he didn’t even make top ten this time.
[? Who were you talking to so gently?]
[Ahhhh do you have a girlfriend now??!]
[Stop jumping to conclusions—what if it’s not?]
“No girlfriend,” Si Jingce explained. “Just got a new pet—a pearl bird.”
[Show us the bird!]
[Why a bird all of a sudden? Weren’t you planning to get a cat?]
That comment floated across in front of Yan Yan.
Whether Si Jingce saw it or not, he didn’t respond.
Yan Yan, who’d been exploring the study excitedly, suddenly slowed down. He stared at Si Jingce, lost.
Si Jingce had said earlier… that he would find a new owner for him.
The joy from getting a new nest vanished.
He didn’t know when that would happen.
But he remembered—his last owner had also bought a bunch of cages right before giving the pearl birds away.
Even when humans gave gifts, they wrapped them in pretty boxes.
His new home had become a countdown timer to being passed on again.
The little bird gripped the edge of the computer tightly, as if to keep himself from falling.
The air grew heavy.
Si Jingce truly hadn’t seen that bullet comment.
Yan Yan’s small body blocked part of the screen, and with the viewer count growing rapidly, the comments refreshed faster than ever.
As the stream neared its end, Si Jingce picked up his nearly empty yogurt bottle, finished the last few sips, and started answering fan questions.
“When’s your next stream? Same as usual—8 PM tomorrow.”
“What are you drinking? Yogurt.”
[Why do we see you drinking yogurt every day?]
Si Jingce tossed the empty carton in the trash and casually replied, “Because I’m a milk-burp top.”
A row of question marks floated across the comments.
Just as he was about to end the stream, Si Jingce spotted another message.
[You promised to turn on your camera when you hit six million followers, remember? It’s been nearly a week now.]
Si Jingce was quiet for a long time.
He had made that promise. Once he hit six million, he’d do a face reveal.
The goal was reached within a few days, but his camera setup had only just been ordered—it would arrive the day after tomorrow.
Time to follow through.
Si Jingce thought for a moment and said, “Let’s do it the day after tomorrow.”
